


The Dragon of Skyhold

by JessicaPendragon



Series: Canon Keela Lavellan [26]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Solavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-21 19:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: In which the Inquisitor gets turned into a dragon and Skyhold has a grand old time.





	1. Quit Dragon Me Into This

Today has been a good day. Not a cloud in the sky, the yards calm and quiet for as most of Skyhold rests and relaxes after entertaining a stream of nobles from Orlais for the week. He managed to get through most of his tasks in peace as the Undercroft was blessedly empty for much of the day. He’s grown used to Dagna’s muttering and racket, will never admit that sometimes it soothes him, but very few other people bothered to bother their work for a change.

Harritt heads there now to finish the last of his pieces that have been cooling in the mountain air, a loaf of warm bread for his cohabitant tucked in a cloth beneath his arm and a small smile hidden beneath mustache. He might even wrap up in time to head to the Herald’s Rest to enjoy a little music and mead before the crowds show up and turn the place into a circus. One can only hope he’ll get there first, and if there’s anything that the Inquisitor has taught him through fire and darkspawn and rifts not stopping her, it’s to believe in a little hope everyone once in awhile. 

He’s right at the door when the ground of the main hall shakes a split second before there’s a great boom from beyond the wood. The bundle of bread and his smile fall towards the floor as his heart rises in his throat, the pound of it filled with dread. Harritt yanks the door open, a mistake he thinks later, for who knows what horrors could’ve awaited, but in his panic he doesn’t think to think. There’s a cloud of dark green smoke in the center of the room quickly being sucked out of the open wall of the Undercroft and he catches a heavy scent at the edges of it, something like ash and hard metal and something primal. 

“Miss Dagna?” he shouts. “Dagna!”

“Over here.” She appears from a pile of debris by the potions table, dusts rocks and soot from her tattered clothes. There are streaks of something across her face, a few of her hairs burnt at the ends, but she seems to be in one piece.

“What happened?”

“We were working on my new dragon protection rune. I’ve been missing something. I thought maybe adding some wyvern glands might be helpful so she brought me some. I didn’t know the extra potion was sitting there and then, well, kaboom.”

“She? Who else…?” Harritt turns to look around the room. There are new voices coming from the hall no doubt attracted by the sound of the explosion, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else with them here. 

“The Inquisitor. She was here and then-” Dagna gasps, eyes darting to the open sky. “You don’t think she got blown out?”

More like blown up, if the scorch marks on the floor are any indication. They approach the table in the center where most of the damage is. He finds a shredded piece of cloth and fears the worse, a lump forming in his throat. The Herald can’t be gone - the world is still in chaos and they will be lost without her. 

“What happened here?” The Commander’s voice calls out from the stairs. 

Harritt braces himself and turns around to deliver the news when a small noise stops him. It’s coming from underneath the table and he bends down to look, hope fluttering within his breast. There are golden eyes glaring up at him, familiar but not as they’re set in a face long and broad, ridges of bone and scale instead of skin. He takes a step back as a claw comes into the light, another step as a mouth full of sharp teeth opens and snaps his way.

“Is that-” The drag of steel punctuates Cullen’s words, the echo of many more weapons following suit behind him. There is a dragon in Skyhold, no bigger than a small dog but still full of potential danger, and it is coming his way. “Stand back, Master Harritt.”

“Wait, wait!” Dagna rushes into his place, arms flailing up and shaking. 

“Get away from that beast!”

“It’s not a beast.” She turns to face the predator that reaches almost to her hip and even with its short height it should still be a fearsome thing next to her, but now that Harritt’s heart has some time to settle it doesn’t appear so horrible to him now. Its tail twitches low, steps unsure as its looks between them all and down to itself. He spent enough time next to Dennet’s animals to think it looks scared, lost, confused. More shock follows when it looks at up Dagna and makes a whine, like a mutt begging to be let inside. “It’s the Inquisitor.”

“The…?” Cullen drops the tip of his sword but keeps it firmly in grasp. “You can’t be serious.”

“It has to be! She was here and now, well, she’s still here. Unless she got sent to a dimension where there are tiny fully grown dragons and then one got sent through. Or maybe she  _did_ explode and-”

“That’s enough.” The Commander pauses for a moment, face almost pained, as if he can’t believe the next words coming out of his mouth would ever need to be spoken. “I…Inquisitor Lavellan? Are you- is it you?”

The dragon lifts its head in his direction, makes another plaintive noise and seems surprised to hear it come from its own throat. It could be just coincidence, wishful thinking or like seeing faces in clouds and rocks when nothing is there, but nobody raises a voice to say otherwise. Their anointed leader getting turned into a dragon is something quite believable in this upturned world, even if nobody can quite  _believe_ it.

In the stunned silence that follows a low laugh breaks through and Harritt looks to see Master Tethras among the growing crowd of agents, head shaking. “You just can’t make this shit up.”


	2. This Day is Just Dragon On

The advisers crowd around the War Table as Lady Morrigan sinks her magic into the small figure perched in the center of Thedas. There are some protests from the dragon who does not seem to enjoy being secreted across the hall beneath one of Harritt’s ratty cloths, but now she sits with some patience, agitated tail sweeping markers from their places the only sign of unrest.

“Indeed, so it would seem. Our Inquisitor has turned herself into a lizard,” Morrigan announces.

“Can you turn her back?”

“Spells such as these can only run their course, if it is the doing of the transformative potion she was carrying. A day, two at most. Mixed with the rune magic, however, I cannot say what the effects may be.” The witch looks uncomfortable as she lets her hands drop. “They could be of a more lasting nature.”

“That is unacceptable,” Cassandra says. She has been wavering between biting nails and making fists, feet pacing miles into the stone. “You must change her back.”

“Twas not  _my_  doing that she meddled in such things, but, as the one most experienced in this field-”

“And what illustrious claims are you making now, Lady Morrigan?” comes Vivienne’s voice from the doorway. The three mages of the Inner Circle join them finally and it is with varying degrees of shock that they discover what awaits.

“Kaffas! What is a dragon doing here? And why is it so minuscule?”

“Not a dragon, I’m afraid,” Josephine says. “It is…it seems the Inquisitor has had a bit of an accident.” They explain the best they can what occurred in the Undercroft with Dagna’s rune and the potion tipped over, of Morrigan’s prognosis and possible plans barely formed before they walked into the door. 

“Well this is just marvelous. Corypheus will surely be shivering in his stalkings to face the likes of this.” Dorian gestures to Lavellan who now lays upon the table with one of Leliana’s markers between paws and chews away upon the raven’s head. She looks up at his attention and drops the piece after a moment, stares at it with confusion and disgust in golden eyes. 

“Likely the longer she remains in such form, the more animalistic she will become. Tis dedication and practice that keeps us separate from the beast, one of which I know she does not possess. We may wish to invest in a leash before Andraste’s chosen takes wing and never returns,” Morrigan suggests. 

At that Keela looks behind her in curiosity, cocks a head as she spreads those wings wide. They flap gently a few times before pushing down with more force that sends papers and pieces scattering across the map and to the floor. Against the protests building in the room she tries to take flight, rising off the table a few inches with a little chirp at the victory. It does not last forever, however, as wings wobble and falter, and she crashes down somewhere in the Arbor Wilds. They all sigh a breath of relief when she curls tail around herself and sulks instead of trying for another attempt. 

There’s another shuffle as Cole appears between their ranks like he was always there. No one bothers to remind him he wasn’t invited, or bemoans his presence, for there’s no point to it. “ _Everything so big but skin so small, words remembered but tongue too tight to speak._ She feels them different now, words like hunger and home and hunt louder than they were before. She’s embarrassed, afraid-” Keela lets out a low growl. “Oh, now she’s just angry. At me.”

“Is she…” Solas clears his throat. He hasn’t spoken since they arrived, hands clasped behind his back as he stands to the side, but now he moves forwards with a bit of concern breaking the practiced calm. “Despite the situation, is she well? No pain or discomfort?”

“No, she’s…” Cole trails off as their Inquisitor rises, circles around to sniff at the air. She lets her sights settle on Cullen and the ex templar shifts on his feet as her claws clack across the map his way. She doesn’t stop at the edge of the table but continues onward, jumping onto his shoulder despite stuttered protests. A long body curls around his neck, settles into the fur with a satisfied huff. “She was just cold. You helped.”

They all stare at the red faced Commander and his new bespeckled accessory as he stands straight and awkward, unsure and yet unwilling to disturb. It is Leliana that laughs first, Josephine next who hides her smile beneath her papers - it is Dorian that laughs the loudest, for what else can one do with the savior of the known world curled around warmth like a house cat while the sky still splits apart above them?

“Just marvelous.”


	3. Get Your Dragon

There is already a crowd in the main hall when the advisors exit the war room. The agents and civilians do their best to look natural, but quick glances give away their interest. Cullen frowns heavily at each and every one of them, or tries to, tries to will this all to fade away and return things to normal.

“We need to keep this quiet. It will do no good to have this knowledge spread through the Inquisition and beyond.”

“Or we could tell them the truth,” Leliana suggests.

“Tell them–” he rounds on his two companions, lowering his voice. “Tell them the truth? That their Inquisitor has turned into a…into a creature?”

“Who would believe it? The tale will grow wilder with each retelling when the truth is so outlandish itself. This can be used to our advantage. No one will believe such claims. By the time anyone curious investigates our Inquisitor will be herself again.”

“A thing we don’t know for sure.”

“Rumors will spread regardless, but we could be in control of them to some degree,” Josephine adds. “Perhaps in this case discretion isn’t best.”

Cullen looks at them a moment more before accepting with a tired shake of his head. “If you think it wise, I’ll defer to your more seasoned experience with deception and misdirection.”

“Careful, Commander. That almost sounded like a compliment.” Leliana says, smiling as his frown grows. 

“I’ll inform them of this…predicament then. Can we agree to keeping her contained at least? Maker knows it will do no good to have her flying around Skyhold. This place is chaotic enough.”

In agreement, they whisk Keela away to her tower for safe keeping and to keep hidden. As before she doesn’t appreciate the handling up the stairs but seems to be more or less content to be in a familiar place when they set her down again. She runs up to the bed, running her scales through the tassels hanging from the bedspread before scratching nails down one of the end posts.

Josephine cringes at the sound and destruction but doesn’t move to stop it. Her focus is set on shutting the stained glass doors to the balconies, stealing away important documents that might face the threat of burning. “We’ll have to take turns watching over her, the Inner Circle only I think. I wonder if she’ll need a special diet - oh and we’ll have to get her something to drink from!”

The bowl a servant brings and sets before Keela is a simple thing of iron, a few dents and scratches marring its sides, but it is sound. She looks at it with disdain, however, glancing up between the thing and the servant, huffing little puffs of smoke from her snout. One claw slowly reaches out beneath the lip of the bowl and, as smug as a small dragon can appear, she flips the thing over. Water spills across stone and Josephine sighs. 

Next they bring her a wide, golden goblet bespeckled with sapphires and rubies, and with a pleased hum Keela dips her tongue into this one, satisfied. “Vain creature,” Dorian mutters, but there’s a proud smirk on his lips.

 "Right, well, we should get to work. I’ve been thinking of a nullification spell.“

“Reversing something of this nature is not their intended use,” Solas says. They do not notice Keela’s attention lift to take in their conversation, her head tilting with clever interest. 

“Not normally, but the three of us should manage something. We will likely need a copy of the potion she carried, perhaps some skin and blood samples.” Golden eyes narrow at this, tailing twitching fast in irritation. 

“There is room up here enough to set up a work station,” Vivienne says, her keen gaze making plans and sectioning off spaces. She motions to agents nearby as she sweeps back towards the stairs. “Come, my darlings. We have a few items to fetch.”

“Best to grab some light sedatives while you’re at it,” Dorian adds. “If I recall, she’s never been a very good patient. Not likely to be any better now that she’s-”

“Inquisitor!”

Keela has managed to open one of the glass doors with her claws without their notice and balances on the balcony, her wings spread wide to catch the wind. The intent is clear in the way she pushes her neck forward, the hungry gleam of her eyes watching the horizon. The sky calls to her and it is easy to follow when the alternative is being shuttered away, poked and prodded. 

“Inquisitor, please. Come down from there,” Josephine pleads. They all gather at the threshold, some hands reaching forward, but all too hesitant to force her hand by moving further. 

“Did I say sedatives? How silly of me, I meant-” Dorian claps Solas on the shoulder. “Be useful for once.”

“Keela,” he says, taking a small, bold step nearer. She doesn’t seem to notice, intent on the flow of air around her, testing it with a few quick flaps. “ _Vhenan_.”

At that she turns around, wings hovering still, waiting. Solas takes a few more steps closer with hands out in supplication. She lets him get within arms reach before she makes a noise, a small growl without teeth, not as much of a warning as something like a plea. He can see the quiet unrest in her eyes, in the twitch of wings, knows her mind no matter what shape she might take. 

“ _Solas_ ,” Dorian whispers harshly, each syllable passing through clenched lips. “What are you waiting for? Grab her.”

Keela cocks her head, a challenge, as always, and he finds himself giving a small nod, straightening up and away from her. It is entirely foolish, but he must admit he is curious too. “What are you-”

“Oi!” A loud voice ricochets up the stairs and across the room as Sera bounds towards them. “What’s this about the Inquisitor getting a pet dragon?” Her eyes go wide when she finds them on the balcony, wider still when she sees the rumored beast in all its glory. 

“It’s not a pet, it’s-” but the sentence never finishes, for it’s then that Keela spreads her wings to their limit and jumps from the balcony’s edge. She hovers in the air, a proud crooning sound rumbling up her long throat, and she is as majestic as the High Dragons she’s hunted, scales shimmering bright in the sun’s light. 

Then the wind breaks, and there’s time for a moment where she looks back, dread growing in her eyes and stuck in her throat, before she plummets straight down out of sight.


	4. You're Fired

The inhabitants of Skyhold glance up at the strange screech and find a small dragon falling from the heavens, its wings made useless as it topples end over end. Cullen’s heart launches into his throat, mind scrambling with some way to stop the inevitable. There is not enough time to find something to break the fall. Could he catch her in time? He can’t just watch her die.

As his body shifts to move the leftover lyrium in his veins seizes, reacting to a great well of mana being pulled through the Fade. The fur around his face rustles as air rushes by like a sudden, violent storm everywhere across the upper yard. Dust and leaves show him where it is all being drawn towards and with a sigh of relief Cullen watches the wind rise up to meet the Inquisitor, stopping her spiral in its tracks. She’s able to right herself again, wings catching like fire against the sun as she finds balance in the safety of this magic. He follows her gaze up to the high balcony above and can spot a familiar figure standing with arms raised and glowing blue.

“It’s a bloody dragon!”

“Arm yourselves!”

He’ll have to thank Solas, but there are other pressing matters. Now that the tumbling mass has been identified there are more shouts of alarm around the yard, the clang of armor and rattle of arrows in quivers. There is a dragon in Skyhold but it is the thing in danger. “Soldiers! Stay your weapons!”

“Commander?”

“Hold! It’s not a threat. It’s,” he can’t believe he’s going to say this, “it’s-”

“A dragon!” There’s a roar of laughter that sounds more like a battle cry behind him. The Iron Bull comes running from the tavern, his great axe held high, sharp curve like his wide grin. His thumping gait stutters a bit when he notices the minuscule size of his latest foe, but his enthusiasm doesn’t wane. 

Cullen puts up his hand. “Wait Bull, there’s no-” Something collides into his back, knocks him halfway to the ground before he’s able to steady himself. He can feel talons dinging into the soft parts of his armor, hear them scratching against the harder places. A glance reveals Keela latched on looking a little guilty with the way she lowers her eyes. She might not be a danger, but she is something of a nuisance. 

“What’s going on?” Krem runs up alongside Iron Bull, hand ready to pull sword loose. 

“We’ve had…an incident. The Inquisitor was in the Undercroft and there was an explosion. She-”

“She all right? Where is the Inquisitor?”

Cullen takes a deep breath and gestures to the dragon climbing on his shoulder. “Here.” 

There are whispers from around the lawn, faces changing from alarm to concern, confusion. “She was working with a transformative potion when it happened. We’re not sure the complete effects, but she’s…unharmed, as it were. The others are working on a solution. I’m sure we’ll-”

“Can she spit fire?” Bull interrupts. 

“I beg your-I don’t really think that’s-” Cullen winces as a stream of red flame erupts from his shoulder, shooting a few meters high into the air.

Bull’s reaction is louder than the small inferno. “This is the greatest fucking day ever! Boss, you’re the best. We gotta use this.”

“I don’t think that’s-”

“Krem, go get your sling. I have a few ideas.”

“But-” Keela jumps from Cullen and flies up to land atop Bull’s horns. Both of them practically croon together as they race towards the training area and seem to take the whole crowd with them. Cullen could call them all back in an instant- he is their commander after all, and their leader is clearly not in a state to make complex decisions. He almost does, but snaps his jaw shut as he thinks better on it. It is an opportunity for some rare training, after all.

Skyhold becomes a buzz of excitement as the news quickly spreads about the Inquisitor. The whole castle comes out to see her sparring against The Iron Bull with axes and claws. After some time Commander Cullen has her training recruits against fireballs, while other Inner Circle members battle her in their own ways as well. Some curious inhabitants ask to touch her scales, the silky membrane of her wings. She tolerates it for a few moments before answering with growls and teeth. 

The extra attention, something easily handled in her regular from, is something a little too much when one is so little. When she truly can’t handle it anymore she flies away into the main keep as best she can, her flying skills much improved from this morning’s beginnings. The crowds that follow can’t seem to find her, search for awhile until the excitement of the day slowly bleeds away and their superiors remind them of duties half finished. 

The Inner Circle continues the hunt for their illusive prey, some worried that something ill, something  _other_ ill, may have befallen her. Varric watches the whole thing from the comfort of his chair in the Main Hall. He keeps one eye on his work and gold for the Merchant Guild and one eye on the congregation, sometimes pushing it all away to pluck an idea from his head and swirl it into parchment. He doesn’t have to try too hard for inspiration these days - the wildest stories unfurl before him with little effort on his part. 

“Varric.” Cassandra’s orbit collides with his this time as she comes through the doors again. “Have you seen the Inquisitor?”

“I’m not sure. What was she wearing?”

She scowls. “The leader of the Inquisition is missing and in a…delicate state, and you have been sitting here biting Sovereigns instead of doing something.”

“You just don’t know when to give up searching for people that don’t want to be found, do you? She’ll be fine, Seeker. Give her some time.”

“If you see her, at least be useful and let someone know.”

“You’ll be the first person I run to, like always.” 

Cassandra frowns further, a fight growing in her gaze, but she huffs and stomps down the hall and out of sight. Varric goes back to his work, the soft  _scruff scruff_  of his quill and the popping of burning logs behind him the loudest sounds in his little corner for a few moments. Then he hears something else, a quiet sigh and purr. He spares a quick glance back to find the Inquisitor curled up in the fire, dark scales looking like kindling if she remains closed and still. She glances up at him with those bright eyes and makes the noise again, and he doesn’t need to speak dragon to know what she’s saying.

“You’re welcome, Spitfire.”


	5. I hoard you were in trouble

The novelty of a dragon grows old very quickly in Skyhold. Despite her size, Keela manages to cause the well oiled machine of the Inquisition to break within only a few days. The kitchen staff complains of their stores being raided while the herder grows dark circles under ever watchful eyes because his livestock is growing thinner. It is difficult for soldiers to practice in the field as the flashes of their swords attract her attentions as she chases the shimmering lights on the ground around their feet or sometimes even bites into leather when she doesn’t like their movements. 

Morrigan’s word hold true- the longer Keela stays in the form the wilder she becomes. Efforts double to keep her in Skyhold through tricks and treats. No one suggests a collar or imprisonment after they shut her in a room for only a few minutes. When they check every feather and straw of the bed is burning, the wooden furniture cracked and kindling, and the rage in her small eyes is as fierce as the smolder of her larger sisters. So they work harder for a cure or to keep Skyhold in one piece, and after only a few days it seems the whole fortress is exhausted. 

The bite of a headache is building behind Josephine’s eyes. As ambassador, she has weathered most of the bombardment - when they can’t find Leliana, or fine Cullen’s ire, the masses bring their causes to her. She has done much, but there still isn’t much she  _can_  do. She is no mage or alchemist, so beyond ordering more water be pulled from the Undercroft’s falls to quench any fires, or having the kitchen serve leafy rations so the herd may wander farther to safety, or hiding all the rare tomes of Skyhold behind spells and locked metal, all she can do is use her talents to keep the threads together. 

It is not an easy task, especially when the Inquisitor goes missing once again.

“Get her out!” Josephine smears ink across the page as Sera’s voice strikes through her office. She is a ball of anger as she storms up to the desk. “It’s all wrong, yeah? What if she…I can’t think about it, but I can’t not think about it when she won’t bugger off!”

“What do you mean? You’ve found the Inquisitor?”

“She’s in my room! Nabbed it while I was out and I can’t get in back ‘til she’s out. So get her out.”

Josephine takes a deep breath and pushes away from her work. They are halfway across the yard when a graceful figure cuts her way to them, poised feet missing puddles and piles of dirt with ease. Sera makes a noise and makes a point to step squarely in mud as Vivienne finally reaches them, fine speckles of brown splattering the bottom of her white overcoat. 

The Grand Enchanter only spares an indulgent look at Sera’s antics.  “Josephine darling, there is a matter I would like to bring to your attention. A few of my more expensive items have gone missing-”

“Wait your turn, Vivvy. I was here first so shove the noble where it’s not shiny,” Sera interrupts.

Josephine steps slightly between them. “I will be with you as soon as I have a moment, Madame de Fer. There is an important matter I must attend to first. Perhaps you might be able to assist? I’m sure the Inquisitor would be grateful.”

“Ugh, no-” Josephine grabs Sera’s arm and tugs her and her protests along. “I don’t want her near my stuff either!”

“I assure you I have no interest in your…things,” Vivienne says as she follows.

“Never stopped your type from taking.”

“If we might focus on the task at hand for a moment?” Josephine asks as they approach Sera’s shut door. There isn’t any noise from beyond, just the quiet din of the tavern before the crowds fill it to bursting. “Are you positive she’s still in there?” 

“Yeah,” Sera says, then shrugs. “Unless she’s not.”

Keela is indeed inside, but at first it is a challenge to find her. The room has been rearranged, shelves plucked clean of the trinkets Sera has collected and curtains and blankets pulled from their places. All of it accumulates in one spot where the Inquisitor has built a nest for herself. She lays atop her tiny hoard, one eye open and watchful as they move into the room, and Sera yells curses and outrage about the mess and her messed up things.

“It seems we have a common cause after all, little Sera. I believe we’ve found my thief.” Vivienne says and motions to some of the glittering necklaces and rings woven into the pile. There are more, jewelry and silverware, candlesticks Josephine recognizes from her own office - it is likely there are many people within Skyhold missing prized items. 

“Do your talking trick and get her out already.”

Keela lets out a heavy growl as Josephine approaches, smoke seeping through sharp teeth as claws dig in to the stolen treasures. This is not a battle she believes she can win, not with that wild, unthinking gleam in golden eyes. “I do not think my words will move her. What could I offer better than…”

 _Gold_.

It takes almost an hour to coax Keela from the room through more bribes of savory meat and a continuously trail of glittering Sovereigns, but the effort is worth it when they reach Skyhold’s massive vault and she lets out a high pitched shriek of delight. She rolls and digs, a little stream of fire heating a pile beneath her that she plops down upon, tail curling more precious pieces towards her until her ruby scales can barely be seen. Lazy, contented puffs of smoke rise from her snout poking out, and Josephine can do nothing but laugh despite her exhaustion.

“A clever idea,” Vivienne praises. “I doubt you will even need to close the vault to keep her in one place now.”

“Please tell me you have found a way to reverse this.”

Vivienne pats her shoulder. “Not yet, my dear, but we won’t rest until we do.”

Josephine has a feeling no one in Skyhold will find rest for just as long and makes a mental note to add to the recent request of more rejuvenation potions and coffee, and to be safe, more burn ointment.  


	6. Ma Vhenan, Ma Draconian

He doesn’t think too much of it, at first. There are far more pressing concerns at the moment, the greatest being the Inquisitor transforming into a minuscule  _draconis_. The Breach still looms high and the orb farther from reach, but their weapon in this battle is dangerously out of the fight. Between pouring through related tomes for a cure, if not an explanation, and dousing the occasional building blaze or healing minor scratches and bites, Solas hardly has time to realize that his heart is avoiding him.

Ever since his magic stopped her spiral from the balcony, he has barely seen her. He hears stories of the other Inner Circle members interacting with Keela - Cullen and Bull training, curling in Varric’s fire and burying herself in Sera’s room. Yet he, the closest of her companions, sees her very little. The most interaction they’ve have since the ordeal begins is upon the balcony and when he visits her in the vault. There was only a few seconds, a brief touch, before she makes a rumbling noise and launched herself back into her plentiful treasure.

He does not think much of it until she all but plummets into his lap. 

Solas works at his desk, combing through scrolls for any suggestions dealing with transformative magic. If it was The Before, when the Veil was just a thought in his mind, together they could easily untangle her from the form she’s crafted herself into. But, as he is constantly reminded, even with some of his ancient power renewed there is only so much he can do in this limited world. Perhaps he could reverse the spell on his own, but in doing so he would call too much attention to himself, although after so many days he is almost desperate enough to risk it. 

There’s a chorus of enraged screeches from above that rip him from his work. He looks up to see the rookery in chaos, cages moving violently and dark flapping wings all a flurry. Feathers begin to fall like black snow, and he watches as something else comes into view. He recognizes the flash of Leliana’s bright hair, the commanding echo of her voice - he also recognizes the figure she heaves over the side of the banister. Keela lets out an indignant squawk as she once more tumbles through the air. Luckily she has become much more adept at flying and spreads wings, rights herself after a few hard flaps, and lands solidly upon his many scrolls.

With the shock of the moment passed, Solas raises an amused brow. “A dangerous roost to disturb, I would imagine. The Spymaster tends carefully to her flock.”

Keela shakes herself, letting out chirps that sound much like complaining, as she glances up at the rookery now too far away. The ire is familiar, and a sudden pang of longing strikes through him. Solas has spent weeks without her company as she travels Thedas and he remains behind, but this is different, to have her close and yet not. There is concern there too the longer she remains in this form and the duller that spark in her eyes becomes.

Solas sits, stretches his hand forward open and and wanting. “Vhenan.”

She stops her fretting and tilts her head his way, the action so like her the pang turns into a twisted thing within his chest. Parchments protests her claws as she steps forward and leans her face into his hand. Solas feels triumphant at that and runs his fingers down hard scales until she lets out another noise. It is of uncomfortable dismay and she bucks away from him, a look of betrayal shot his way before she shoots off the table and out of sight with a flurry of papers billowing out in her wake. 

He is left there stunned, and a little hurt. “ _Cold,”_ a familiar voice says from the scaffolding. A crack of ash and shadow and Cole appears by the desk next. It is a good word for her behavior towards him, and he certainly feels the rejection like ice in his-

Cole interrupts his thoughts. “No, not her.  _You._  She likes it when she’s big.  _A frozen kiss to her neck, fingers down her ribs feel sharp without wound. A burn that isn’t flame._ She thinks it makes you fit together even if it’s the wrong type of fire.It’s too much when she’s little though. The dragon runs and takes her with it.”

“Ah.” Solas looks down at his hand and sees it anew, remembers the flush of goose flesh across her shoulders, her small intake of breath at his cool touch. He had not considered how his chosen magic would influence her in this state and feels a wash of relief that it is something easily fixed. 

Although he finds it not so at all as Keela seems impossible to catch now. More days go by. Once again he learns of her exploits around Skyhold, how Blackwall finds her chasing the mice in the barn and stops her from chewing on his latest wooden creation, or how she she dozes at Dorian’s feet in the gardens, and dazzles herself with her own reflection in Cassandra’s shining armory. 

Eventually Solas gives up on the pursuit but not on finding a way to bring her back to normal. He pushes, spending all his waking hours on the task and even works into his dreams, asking spirits for long kept secrets or advice. On the fifth day he tries to give himself a brief break upon the settee, a book in grasp hoping he might simply absorb the relevant information as he rests his other hand across eyes. It is too difficult to find stillness however, to stop worrying about things outside the Fade. About her. All he is finding is more frustration to add to the pile.

There is a noise at his feet. He lifts his arm and cracks open an eye to see Keela perched on the opposite edge, her tail flicking fast as she realizes he’s awake. It seems that he only had to wait for her to return. She makes the noise again, something caught between an irksome growl and a lonesome whine, as claws curl and uncurl from the leather like she wants to move but hesitates. Now he understands why. 

Slowly he extends his hand and this time calls forth a bit of blue flame into palm. It warms the air between them and chases away the cold. Keela lets out a happy croon and jumps onto his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and pulling laughter from his throat. She is not shy in her affection now, pushing into his hand and rubbing against his jaw, and even though the whole situation is beyond ridiculous, Solas finds himself just as happy to have her close again. He spreads the magic over his skin, a simple enough spell to keep, and she settles down into his chest, contented purrs vibrates through her scales and into his skin. 

Together they drift off to sleep, Solas allowing himself to fall further into the Fade than he has in a few days now that he can feel her heart, however much smaller, beating against his own. Sometime later he feels a heavy pressure on his chest and across his legs, feels a shock of magic pulse through the air. When he opens his eyes he finds familiar dark hair and warm skin -  _all of it_. Quickly he grabs the blanket nearby and drapes it over her to naked form, the action jostling her from sleep.

Keela lifts her head and blinks hard a few times, nails digging into his shirt like a cat might stretch upon waking. Or a dragon. She is halfway into a yawn before she realizes things have changed. Then she lifts herself up, touches her arms and face, runs over her lips and lets out a long sigh. “Finally. That was enough of that _.”_

Solas’ pulse skips to hear her voice again. He reaches out and shifts finger through her soft hair. “Vhenan.”

Her gaze snaps to him, widening when she truly sees him again. “ _Solas_.” Hands brace against his cheeks as she tumbles forward and plants her mouth upon his. Her tongue tastes faintly of ash, but he does not mind. When they part she brushes her nose against his, ending her bold kiss with a bit of sweetness. “I knew you wouldn’t let me fall.”

“I knew it would be a futile attempt dissuading you from trying.” He kisses her again for good measure, steals as much of her that he can before the inevitable storm to come. “We should inform the others.”

“Yes, you are right.” She begins to climb off him and the settee and he grabs her arm before she can get far, the tops of his cheek tinting at the thought of her walking out into the main hall right now.

“I believe it would be best if you waited a moment while I procure clothing. You are…”

Keela glances down at herself to discover her state of total undress, but she only smirks and stands, wrapping the blanket around her. She makes it almost regal despite it being a threadbare cape, and with most her strong legs showing. “I have been in worst states. And perhaps it will be enough to distract them from all I have done lately. I am not sure Sera will be speaking to me for some time.”

With a chuckle, Solas rises and joins her. “I do believe you will be barred from the kitchens as well. No one is likely to forget with any haste what has occurred these past days, Hahrensyl Tarasyl'an Te'las.”

Keela laughs. “The Dragon of Skyhold? I like it.”


End file.
